Datapads and Derrieres
by Barddoc1992
Summary: Set during ME2. Morgan Shepard had to deal with Cerberus, somehow unite her mixed bag of recruits, and figure out what makes Thane Krios so fascinating-and whether he could possibly be just as fascinated by her. First, however, she has a whole bunch of administrative work that has to get done. Some swearing and suggestive situations.
1. Shepard

**Standard Disclaimer: Everything Mass Effect is owned by BioWare, and I receive no financial benefit from this fanfiction. **

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Shepard hated admin datapads. Hated them with a passion. Hated the bureaucracy, the endless organizational tasks, and the sheer tedium that they represented. As she glared at the stack on the office desk in her quarters, she whined to her hamster, "After more than two centuries in space, why does humanity still rely on these stupid, glowing screens of death-by-boredom?" The little creature darted out of his house and squeaked a supportive "Meep!"

"You'd think having a yeoman as an assistant would mean fewer of these nasties," she continued complaining, expanding her audience to include her fish. "But no! Now I just have an extra person to bug me about keeping up with them!" The fish wisely did not respond. Shepard hit the button to feed them anyway.

"Whatever corners Cerberus might cut regarding morality and ethics, they certainly make up for when it comes to documentation. And now with Kelly and Miranda both on my ass…. Damn," she paused, rubbing her forehead as her tirade petered out, "guess there's nothing for it but a few hours of slogging." She did not look forward to the headache she knew was coming.

The top datapad was the monthly weapons requisition order from Jacob, listing various supplies required to keep the armory well-stocked. But before getting to the numbers of needed replacement parts, mods, and thermal clips, he included yet another gripe about Garrus:

_YOUR TURIAN FRIEND continues to take needed supplies from MY stock, insisting on caring for his own weapons. That's FINE, I can understand a soldier going that route as long as he knows what he's doing, and I'll admit Garrus does. But he needs to stop BYPASSING my security with his tech skills and ASK for supplies rather than just TAKE them without a paperwork trail, leaving me unexpectedly short. He also needs to order the new high-end mods he wants THROUGH ME rather than going directly to you. And now he's even got OTHER CREW MEMBERS coming to HIM for upgrades! Pretty soon I won't have ANY IDEA whose weapons have what capabilities or supply needs, which undermines my ability to do my job. I think a clear line needs to be drawn here and soon. AM I OR AM I NOT THE ARMORY OFFICER FOR THIS VESSEL? _

Shepard could almost feel Jacob's irritation leaping off the datapad. She didn't have to wade through hours of administrative crap after all; the headache had already arrived.

"Damn, Jacob," Shepard muttered, "the stick up your ass is even bigger than the one Garrus used to have." She pinched the bridge of her nose and paced from hamster cage to fish tank and back.

Jacob did hold the position of armory officer, assigned when the Illusive Man placed him aboard Cerberus's new version of the Normandy. But Garrus was an unquestioned genius with weapons, especially when it came to individual tailoring for peak performance. Shepard herself preferred to go to her old friend for help—he was the only person besides herself and maybe Thane that she trusted to touch her sniper rifle—though she hoped Jacob didn't know that.

But at that moment, she could have cheerfully strangled her best friend. "Garrus," she groaned, "don't you remember our conversation about staying low-key and under Jacob's radar on this?"

And then she noticed the next datapad, right under Jacob's requisition form. It was from her turian buddy, doing a complete end run around Jacob and formally requesting various armory supplies for his own use. Judging by the items and quantities he was ordering, he was likely modding and upgrading for quite a few crew members besides himself and Shepard.

"Damn, shit, fuck and…and a whole bunch of other words I try not to say on a regular basis!" she erupted. "I am going to mangle your freaky turian body, Garrus! I KNOW you know what 'under the radar' means, and this isn't it! And damn it, you know better than to jump the chain of command! Now what the hell am I supposed to do with you and Jacob? God, give me Reapers to handle any day, even every day, rather than this petty personnel bullshit!"

Part of her difficulty in deciding how to solve the problem was that she understood the motivations behind Garrus's behavior. He had a core-deep hatred for all things Cerberus after a number of run-ins with them a few years back, and he liked to throw metaphorical wrenches into the organization's gears whenever possible. It was his way of declaring, "Shepard and I might be working with you, but we are damn well not working for you and certainly will never be one of you."

And she needed that reminder from him, needed to know he would always have her back as she navigated the murky waters surrounding the Illusive Man, his sketchy data collection methods, and his God-knows-how-many hidden agendas. But as much as she might agree with Garrus's sentiments and admire his integrity, Shepard couldn't command a Cerberus vessel and a mostly Cerberus crew amid such open distrust and dislike.

"Oh, Garrus," she protested hopelessly, "I can't let you maintain a competing armory. Jacob does have a point about needing to stay on top of weapon capabilities. And I need to somehow unify this squad, not watch it fracture. What the fuck do you expect me to do here?"

Temples throbbing, the first human Spectre forced deep breaths in and out and fought down the urge to kill some of her crewmembers. Meep and the fish stayed silent. Shepard appreciated their restraint; at least some of her friends weren't trying to piss her off.

For a long moment, Shepard entertained visions of pitting the ex-Alliance marine and the former vigilante against each other in various sparring scenarios, including a literal pissing contest. Eventually, laughter won out over her anger. After more slow breathing and some fish gazing, the worst of the headache eased off.

But she was still left with two conflicting armory requisition orders, one in each hand. What to do, what to do? She idly began juggling the datapads, tossing each into the air in turn while making her way down into her living quarters. A sudden giggle escaped when her mind dug up a childhood rhyme she hadn't thought of in ages: "Eenie, meenie, miney, moe…"

"What language are you speaking, Shepard?" EDI asked.

Shepard jerked, datapads flying through the air to land wherever. After a little more than two months on the SR-2, the Normandy's resident AI still managed to startle her.

The soothing computer voice continued, "Your personnel record states that you speak six Earth-specific and three non-human languages and read at least six more, but I do not recognize that particular one."

"EDI," Shepard reprimanded sharply, "I've asked you not to sneak up on me like that."

"Shepard, I do not 'sneak' anywhere, as I am always present."

"Not a good time to remind me of that, EDI," Shepard sighed. "And I wasn't speaking an unknown language, just repeating a human childhood nonsense rhyme. By the way, did you see where the datapads went?"

"Searching. Ah, a rhyme to assist one in making a difficult choice. Interesting. But why would an accomplished Alliance commander need to rely on such…"

"Not now, EDI. Datapads?"

"My visual sensors show that the datapad from Officer Vakarian is on the floor by the coffee table corner nearest you. The datapad from Mr. Taylor is lying on top of the couch back, near the corner and almost touching the wall."

"Thank you, EDI. That will be all." After a brief pause, Shepard rushed on, "And I'm sorry I was short with you."

"You are welcome, Shepard. And though unnecessary, your apology is appreciated." EDI finished in a quieter, almost sad tone, "Logging you out."

Shepard ran her hands through her hair and wondered when she had started thinking of EDI as a crewmember with emotions. Deciding to save those philosophical gymnastics until later, she picked up Garrus's requisition order. Then she shifted over to get Jacob's where the two sections of the L-shaped couch met in a ninety degree angle.

She tried to grab his datapad while keeping her feet on the floor and reaching over the couch, but she lost her balance a little as she leaned forward. Her fingertips made glancing contact with the thin rectangle just before it skidded away. Shepard watched helplessly as it slid down into a crack between the couch and the wall that she would have sworn moments earlier did not exist.

She stared at the spot where the stupid plastic…thing…had vanished, but it refused to magically reappear. Then she looked at the very large and certainly heavy couch. And she noticed how perfectly it was wedged into that corner of her living quarters, as if the stairs and the half-wall of her office space had been put into place after the huge couch was moved in.

"Damn it!" she yelled in frustration. "I hate you, Jacob Taylor. You, too, Garrus Vakarian! And EDI…never mind, EDI, I'm not really mad at you."

"Thank you, Shepard."

"I thought you had logged me out?" Shepard challenged.

"Your vital stats started climbing alarmingly a few moments ago. Do you require assistance?"

"No, I've got this, though if you stay logged in here you'll hear a lot of interesting vocabulary while my vitals continue spiking off and on. I'll let you know if I need help."

"Logging you out, Shepard."

Hell, that couch still looked huge. Shepard's usually dormant renegade streak decided to make an appearance. Maybe, if Jacob could yell at his commander about her best friend through a datapad note, she should act like she hadn't actually received his monthly request form. Then she could reprimand him for missing the deadline to order mission-necessary supplies.

Hmm, putting Jacob on the spot like that would be amusing…until she recalled how he had personally hand-delivered this requisition order. He'd given it to her yesterday during breakfast instead of passing it through her assistant. There was no way to deflect the blame for the missing request form onto Jacob or Kelly—may the cheerful yeoman forgive her for even thinking of it. Shepard sighed as she admitted to herself that she just didn't do ruthless well.

That left her no choice but to recover the pain-in-the-ass datapad. And since one of Shepard's personal rules for successful leadership was to avoid explaining her own idiotic behavior to her crew, she had to fetch the damn thing by herself.

Well, maybe she should reconsider that. Asking Garrus to help seemed only fair. Unfortunately, even if he pretended to be nice about it, he would get far too much amusement out of the situation for her comfort. She wouldn't hear the end of it for weeks. So, no Garrus.

Maybe Kasumi? The thief was even smaller than she was and wouldn't be able to help much. And though she was unfailingly kind, she was also a bit of a gossip. Oh, and she had that thing for Jacob. She would probably rat Shepard out just for an excuse to talk to him. So, no Kasumi.

And as for all the other established team members, the "don't let them see you being stupid" rule still applied. She just didn't yet feel comfortable enough with any of them to waive it. Damn.

Perhaps Thane? Despite him being the newest recruit, she already felt a surprisingly strong connection with the philosophical assassin, and she hoped he felt the same way. She knew he would never make fun of her if she asked for his help, though his lips might quirk a bit into that half smile she liked so much. They would have to converse too, of course, and Shepard felt a little thrill every time she heard his voice. It was like raw silk, rough and textured but still somehow velvety. She swore she could actually feel his words during her visits to life support. She just stood for a moment, lost in recollection and sensation.

A small shiver shot down her spine.

She shook off her reverie with an effort. She had learned from her reading on his species and from watching him in combat that drell were quite strong despite their deceptively lean builds. He could probably move the couch by himself with little effort; she could just stand back and watch. Yes, watching sounded good. He might actually take that coat off first, and he'd have to bend over…. She felt herself flushing.

Damn.

No, asking Thane was sooo not a good idea. She enjoyed their developing friendship, intellectual exchanges, and amusing quotation game too much to risk drooling over him where he might notice. She didn't want him to think that she saw him as so many of the crew did, as a beautiful body to admire without even knowing or caring about the person inside. So, sadly, no Thane.

Back to square one. Okay, moving the couch toward the fish tank was a no-go from the outset; the end of the couch butted up against the stairs that divided the office from her living quarters. So that meant pulling the huge thing away from the half-wall and toward the bed. She had just enough space to play with between the end of the couch and her "personal" desk.

After shifting the coffee table and lounge chair out of the way, taking a few deep breaths, and wondering why Cerberus thought she might need two desks, Shepard slipped her hands under the front edge of the couch near the corner and pulled hard. Nothing.

"Okay, let's try that again, you useless marine," she lectured in her best imitation of her least favorite N7 trainer. "My sainted grandmother can pull harder than that! Let's see those goddamn cybernetic upgrades do some work! Pull, pull, puuull!"

That got her forehead damp but netted her only about two inches of movement. She wiped her hands on her comfy workout shorts and got in position for another try. She glanced at Meep and her fish; she knew they were rooting for her.

"Now to bring out the big guns. Ready, set, pull…pull…Puck, Puck, PUCK, PUCK, PUUUUUCK!" Yes! that did it—now she had about eight or nine inches of space between the couch and the wall.

"More childhood nonsense words, Shepard?" EDI asked.

Shepard stood bent with her hands on her knees, sucking in deep breaths and letting the sweat drip down her face and neck into her tank top. "Not nonsense. Favorite character. In an Earth play. From the 1590s," she panted.

"Searching. _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ by William Shakespeare. Puck is a male fairy in service to Oberon, king of the fairies. But why use that name in this context?"

Shepard was now pretty sure her heart was going to stay in her chest, but her breathing was still ragged. "It was one…of my favorite things…to read…back on Mindoir…before…well, before. Mom didn't like it…when I swore like my dad… so when she was listening… and I was really mad…I would say 'Puck' instead of 'fuck'…or some other word she had declared forbidden…. God, she laughed so hard the first time she heard me use it." She stood upright and stretched, smiling fondly. Good memories of her family were precious.

"A human idiosyncrasy then," EDI stated.

"Yes, EDI, one of my idiosyncrasies," Shepard confirmed. "I'm sure you'll discover many others as you get to know me better."

"I am already compiling a list of Mr. Moreau's idiosyncrasies. I will begin one for you."

"Thanks, EDI. Um, do me a favor and don't mention those lists to anyone else? Ever?"

"Yes, Shepard. Logging you out."

Shepard turned back to the couch and eyed the narrow gap between it and the wall. Time to get that damn datapad.

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**As always, I would love your feedback! Thank you for reading!**


	2. Thane

Thane stepped off the elevator when it reached level 1, Commander Shepard's quarters. He felt uneasy about his task but was unsure why. Since joining Shepard's nearly a month earlier, he and the commander—and Garrus, usually—had backed each other on a number of missions. He had also shared quite a few late night conversations with her and looked forward to more in the future. He respected her bright mind and wide-ranging interests as much as her combat abilities and leadership skills, and he enjoyed her company.

Something about this errand for Garrus, however, did not feel quite…right.

He briefly considered the possibility that he was uncertain about the propriety of entering her quarters. Despite their developing friendship, he had never before sought her out in her personal space. He knew from crew conversations that Shepard's quarters included an office area where she often met with ship personnel. In fact, Shepard had informed him when he first came aboard the Normandy that she maintained an "open door" policy. If someone needed to speak with her, and catching her in the mess hall or leaving a message with Yeoman Chambers was not convenient, crew members were welcome to come by her quarters.

Propriety should not be an issue, but his discomfort did not abate.

Shepard requested that would-be visitors try to avoid very early-morning and late-night visits unless necessary, but in reality she was always available if someone truly felt he needed her. The only exception to this nearly complete access was a two-hour break Shepard tried to claim following every combat operation. Everyone on the ship agreed that she more than earned her post-mission free time, not that it was really "free"—she always had things to accomplish.

She might need to visit med bay for treatment or to check on an injured squad mate. Afterward, caring for her armor and weapons was compulsory after a visit planetside. Next she usually tried to shower and eat a quick meal before writing up the mission report. Then, finally, she might get a few moments just to breathe and relax a bit. Such moments were essential and reasonable, Thane believed, and he disliked how often her responsibilities denied the commander even that small respite.

_No wonder Shepard's talks with me always occur late at night_, Thane considered. _Only when most of the crew is asleep can she call her time her own_. One corner of his mouth kicked up into a half smile. That she chose to share some of her rare personal time with him pleased him.

The Normandy was in transit between systems, heading in due course to pick up a quarian engineer named Tali'Zorah who knew Shepard and Garrus from their shared adventures on the SR-1. Along the way, they were stopping often to hunt for needed resources in order to upgrade important ship systems, a chore Thane knew the commander disliked. But the agenda for today included only flight, with no scheduled tasks for the combat team. The travel time gave the squad a "day off" of sorts.

At lunch, Shepard had declared her intention to spend the afternoon handling a backlog of administrative work. Thane ended up in the forward battery listening to Garrus's stories about missions on the original Normandy in between discussions of weapon upgrades. He was surprised when his colleague paused a bit awkwardly and then asked a favor of him: to hand carry a datapad to Shepard.

The turian had guaranteed that Shepard would welcome the interruption when Thane delivered what Garrus described as a late addendum to his monthly requisition order. He had also hinted that the commander was more likely to approve the first equipment request that came from the most recent recruit, since the order included a new mod just out on the market that would upgrade Thane's own Viper sniper rifle. Shepard wanted her team members to feel welcome and be well-equipped.

Thane saw through the ruse even without the benefit of Garrus's poor ability to lie. He knew Garrus was engaged in a kind of armory turf war with Operative Taylor, and Thane imagined that Shepard was quite upset with both of them. Garrus clearly wanted to score another point in his battle against Cerberus without facing the commander personally. Thane believed the turian did want him to receive an important upgrade to his favorite weapon, but he also realized what a coup Shepard's approval—if she gave it—would mean to Garrus's feud with Taylor.

But Thane agreed to perform the favor anyway, because…well, because of Shepard. During one of their talks, she had mentioned his self-imposed isolation, recommending that he integrate more fully with the crew as part of learning to work with a team. He granted her concern was valid. He had indeed spent many years alone.

Once he started spending more time with the squad, Thane soon realized he would gain other benefits in addition to greater team trust. The camaraderie he felt for the turian marksman began developing into a deeper friendship. He could say the same about his relationship with the team's other stealth specialist, Kasumi, who shared both his love of reading and the heartbreak of losing a cherished partner. And Samara and even Zaeed—he found their life experiences fascinating, and he wished to learn more about them.

He also wanted to help the commander resolve the hostility between some Cerberus and non-Cerberus team members, which he felt was the true source of the armory feud among other problems. The team would never fuse together as it should in the presence of so much anger and dislike. As a bonus, he mused with a small smile, purging that antagonism from the group dynamic might even cause Taylor to stop referring to him as "that damn assassin." He knew greater squad unity with less animosity would please Shepard and lift some worry from her shoulders. Delivering the datapad gave him an excuse to discuss these issues with her.

And so now he stood before the door to her quarters, glad that he was learning—finally, near the end of his life—to make friends, to work within a group, and to better support the people around him. All of those were good things. But most of all, he admitted with relunctance, he simply wanted to see Shepard, to observe and absorb who she was within her own personal space.

_Ah_, he thought, _there's the uneasiness. Why does this one woman matter so much?_ No answers came to him.

Although Shepard's door was unlocked, Thane pressed the intercom to request entrance. A muffled, barely-audible voice called out, "It's open, come on in."

The assassin paused just inside the door and thoroughly assessed this new room without conscious thought. Selecting the most defensible position. Noting maintenance hatchways and duct covers. Focusing on environmental elements he could see that might be of use against an enemy. (_A few well-placed shots would create a lot of broken glass_, he noted to himself absently.) What he didn't see was Shepard.

She wasn't at her desk in the office space, though he saw the work pile she had intended to tackle. He turned his head to the right to glance at the door he presumed led to her private bathroom, but he heard no running water or whispers of movement there. Scanning the rest of the office, he admired some model ships on display until he heard small scraping sounds coming from a shelf by the bathroom door. A pet of some kind pressed up against the side of its cage to look at him. It seemed to question him with a soft "Meep?"

That oddly muffled voice called out again: "Hello? Whoever you are, grab a seat. I'll be with you in a few moments." It definitely did not come from the bathroom but was so stifled that the source was not immediately apparent. Where was the commander?

From his position just inside the door, Thane looked down into the living area. He saw that Shepard wasn't seated at the other desk—_Why two desks?_ he wondered to himself—or in the vicinity of the rather large bed. Finding the bed oddly unsettling, he focused instead on the large aquarium, admiring the assortment of fish and trying without success to identify the one species he did not recognize.

As he took the steps down to the lower level, his attention was caught by the music playing in the cabin. He closed his eyes for a few moments to better capture the memory without distraction. He had not heard this type of music before, but he enjoyed the complex piano chords backed by a drum set, a stringed instrument, and perhaps a saxophone? He wasn't sure. The melody was soothing, but the unusual rhythmic shifts were stimulating. It was good music to work to, he decided, and made a mental note to ask Shepard about it. It was certainly more pleasant than the pounding screechiness she preferred when exercising or sparring.

He visually catalogued the holos and mementos she had displayed, as well as the stack of datapads on her bedside table. He was sure those were novels and histories and other forms of literature, not administrative work, probably in a number of different languages. Thane smirked as he thought of the mild competition he and Shepard had introduced into their conversations, with each dropping casual literary references for the other to identify. The only time he had stumped her so far was with an obscure quotation from a minor Tuchankan poet. He would not be at all surprised if one of those datapads had some recently downloaded krogan verse.

A framed pen and ink drawing, overlaid with the barest suggestions of color, was hung on the wall near her nightstand, precisely where Shepard would be most likely to see it as she left her bed every morning. Thane moved closer and realized it was a family group: a tall man with a rather petite wife, a nearly adult daughter, and a younger daughter who was still a child. The touches of color hinted at auburn hair and green eyes for the father, while the mother appeared to be dark blond with darker eyes. The elder daughter was a young version of her mother except for the height she inherited from her father, and the child seemed a blend of both parents, with hair a shade Thane believed was called 'strawberry blond' and eyes of an indeterminate medium shade. They must be the family Shepard lost on Mindoir, he thought, and Thane's heart ached for her. She clearly took her coloring from her father, though her size seemed closer to her mother's.

After Sovereign's defeat and Shepard's temporary elevation to galactic heroine, Thane heard numerous news reports about her. For a while, the broadcasts were so frequent that one could not go out in public without learning something new about her life story. He recalled that Shepard was in her mid-teens when batarian slavers hit her home colony, which likely made her the middle child in her family. He wondered why she was missing from the drawing. Perhaps, he considered, she was the artist. He tried to imagine Shepard as a teen, a few years younger than Kolyat, with everything she knew and loved ripped from her, without even a holo to help her remember her family. How very like the woman he had come to admire that she would find another way to keep them with her.

A battered breather helmet next caught his eye; it was an N7, he believed, though so damaged it was hard to be certain. He wondered why she had it. And then he noticed the adjacent holo: an image of the eerily intact central section of the SR-1's wreckage, with the name _Normandy_ still visible along its side, surrounded by other large pieces from the destroyed ship. The scorched and occasionally charred bits of debris were partially buried amid a harsh landscape of snow and ice. A chill settled in his gut as he realized exactly what had caused the helmet's damage…and who had been wearing it at the time.

Not long after Thane joined the crew, Grunt had asked over dinner about the commander's toughest mission since Sovereign's attack on the Citadel. In response, Garrus had referred with a heavy sigh to "a non-combat operation just before we picked you up." Now Thane understood why. He had still been on Illium when that mission took place, but he wished he had been present to comfort Shepard after she walked that desolate site, mourning her fallen crewmembers.

"Assuming someone is still with me in here, you must be Thane or Kasumi," Shepard's voice, now sounding clearer and close by, chuckled. "Nobody else is so quiet."

Though only about three minutes had passed since his entrance, Thane was startled to realize he had lost track of his official reason for coming to her quarters. He was learning so much about her through these objects she chose to keep near her that he had allowed himself to become distracted. So distracted, in fact, he had failed to pinpoint her location in the room. He was appalled at the lapse.

Refocused on the original purpose for his visit, it was a simple matter to follow the sound of the her voice to the corner of the large couch. Oddly, only part of her was visible.

For some reason he didn't yet know, she was bent at the waist, with her upper body wedged into a narrow opening between the wall and the back of the couch. All Thane could see was her lower half, with her hips balanced on the back of the couch and her bare feet struggling to maintain purchase on the seat cushions. In between were long, bare legs leading up to a toned but gently rounded bottom in a pair of red N7 shorts. Thane realized he was staring. This was not how he imagined…not how…this was unexpected.

"It must be you, Thane. Kasumi would be talking my ear off by now, and only you rumble in that particular way," Shepard reasoned, still managing to sound amused despite her predicament. The ribbing on the drell's cheeks and throat flushed with embarrassment; he hadn't even noticed he was vocalizing. He hoped that Shepard's extensive reading and gift for languages had not made her familiar with his species' non-verbal communication.

"Yes, hmm, I am here," Thane finally confirmed, with a pause to clear his throat. He feared his reaction to this very different side of his commander was audible in his voice and subharmonic register, and he prayed the latter was too low-pitched for her human ears to hear. "Shepard, may I ask what are you doing? Are you in need of assistance?"

He had seen the commander in exercise clothes a number of times, usually when she was on her way to or from the makeshift workout and sparring area in a corner of the shuttle bay. Perhaps her attire had been a little longer or looser on those occasions, because her lower body had certainly not had this impact on him before.

He hoped she spoke again soon, before he did something he should not. Like run his hands up those legs, to feel the softness of her skin under his scales. He looked away, back to the stack of datapads on her nightstand. Novels, literature, languages—yes, her mind!—he admired Shepard's brilliant mind. There was no reason to focus so much attention on.…

"I got mad at some admin datapads," Shepard explained in response to his question, "threw them around the room, and then realized that one of them had fallen behind the couch. I've almost got it." She laughed quietly to herself—at herself—and Thane had to glance back at her.

Just then she went up on her tiptoes. Her hips slid a little further over the back of the couch, apparently trying to extend the reach of her hidden arms another inch or two. The sliding and stretching caused the little red shorts to ride up, exposing the bottom curves of her butt cheeks and an unexpected preference for lace.

Thane took two steps toward the couch before he realized he was moving. He was baffled by the sudden urges swamping him, by the warmth he could feel thrumming through his ribbing, by the increasing tightness of his leather pants. He knew he felt admiration, respect, even the beginnings of affection for Shepard, but this? Had this attraction been there all along? He had never been physically drawn to another species before; had that lack of experience blinded him?

In the training he had received and the profession in which he excelled, Thane had learned the dangers of self-delusion. He was always honest with himself, about his strengths and weaknesses, his successes and failures, his needs and desires. This surprising new knowledge rattled his self-understanding, and that troubled him profoundly. He enjoyed his slowly deepening friendship with Shepard; he did not want this…this…complication.

"Damn, thought I had it. Maybe over this way…"

Thane was barely aware of Shepard's voice. All of his attention was on his own breathing and on the way her legs were inching further apart as her hidden upper body apparently shifted position. If her hips edged forward just enough, if her shorts rode up a little more and pulled tightly enough, if her upper thighs were far enough part, he'd be able to follow her bare legs up and up until…

_Arashu, please allow me to leave here with some dignity intact_, Thane prayed silently, trying hard not to look at Shepard's sex outlined so lovingly by those damn shorts. He really wanted them gone. One hand started reaching out, and he was stunned by how close he was to the limits of his self-control.

"Come here, closer, almost…. Almost there, just a bit more…Come on…so close…."

Thane swallowed a groan. "Commander, if you don't need my assistance, I'll return at a better time." He knew he sounded abrupt, perhaps even harsh, but he had to get out of that room. He took the steps at a leap and was out in the hallway a moment later.

"Yes!" came the muffled shout from the other side of the door.

He leaned his head against the cool metal wall while waiting for the elevator, trying to calm his breathing and force his world to make sense again. His body had never reacted so swiftly to anyone, at least not since his earliest steps into manhood when it seemed the slightest breeze could arouse him. Not even Irikah had pushed his control to the edge so quickly. And Shepard had not even been trying, had been utterly unaware of the effect she was having on him.

Thane grinned and shook his head at his own foolishness. Commander Morgan Shepard, Savior of the Citadel, Reaper Killer, and soon-to-be Destroyer of the Collectors, had completely overthrown his decades of Guild training, strict self-discipline, and near-total physical mastery by simply bending over in a pair of shorts.

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**As always, I would love to hear your feedback! Thank you for reading!**


	3. Garrus

Garrus stepped into the elevator from the crew deck and hit the button for the top level. After Thane left the forward battery with the datapad, Garrus had started to feel bad for sending his new friend to face a potentially irate Shepard in his place. And imagining an angry commander led him to realize, far too late, that this game he was playing with Jacob was probably much harder on Shepard than on the Cerberus agent. She of all people didn't deserve this kind of garbage from him.

_Hell, she has every right to chew me out_, he acknowledged to himself as the elevator doors opened. _And then hearing me confess that I'm an idiot will hopefully cheer her up_. With all of his focus on Shepard and the mess he knew he had created for her, he was doubly startled to see Thane leaning against the hallway wall as if he needed the support.

"You okay, Thane? Shepard didn't read you the riot act, did she?" Although the drell straightened as soon as Garrus arrived, the turian was still concerned about him. Something about him was…off.

"Um, I am fine," Thane rumbled. He made an effort to sound more composed, knowing Garrus could hear and probably interpret the emotional context conveyed by his subharmonics. Turians had excellent hearing, better even than his own. "I apologize for not delivering your message. Shepard is…occupied, so I told her I would return later." He nodded a goodbye before turning to enter the elevator.

In those brief moments of conversation and before the elevator doors closed, Garrus looked Thane over carefully, trying to figure out what was wrong. The drell was dying, after all, and might need medical care, though Garrus found he liked the unusual assassin too much to dwell on that thought.

The ribbing on his face and throat was flushed a more vibrant red than usual, as was the bit of red in the center of his lips. His breathing was fast but sounded clear, and his heartbeat was thudding more loudly and much faster than usual. And for a few seconds, when Thane first started talking, his lowest register had included a growling rumble that turians, in their own subharmonic communication, associated with…desire?

For a split second, Garrus considered glancing below Thane's waist, but he couldn't do it. Obvious arousal in public was bad enough for a male, if that was indeed the problem, and the other evidence seemed to indicate that it was. Recalling some awkward moments with a young and innocent Tali back on the SR-1, Garrus realized he empathized too much to make Thane more uncomfortable.

But what had Shepard done to the poor man to cause all this? She just wasn't the lust-inspiring, _Fornax_-cover-girl type, at least from his perspective, and she certainly wasn't a sexual tease. The old C-Sec agent in him wanted answers, if only to satisfy his curiosity—and, maybe, give him some ammunition for the next round of friendly verbal sparring with his best friend.

Once Thane was on his way to the crew deck, Garrus entered Shepard's cabin without using the intercom, as he usually did, and took the stairs into the seating area when he saw she wasn't at her desk. It didn't take long to spot her, as she was wiggling and swearing quite a bit, with her upper body apparently stuck upside down between the couch and the wall. She was working her way back up and out, or at least giving it her best shot. He almost snorted with amusement: only Shepard could have a reason for ending up in that position.

But before he offered his help, he briefly took stock of what Thane had clearly seen—the short shorts, the bare legs, the curved assets that human males admired so much. Drell males, too, apparently. Though perhaps it was more a case of this particular human female and this particular drell male. Maybe, he thought. They were a lot alike, more than either of them realized.

As he finally strode around the coffee table and up to the couch, he flanged through his laughter, "Spirits, Shepard—how do you get yourself into these situations?"

"All your fault, Garrus," she shot back, uncowed by his obvious enjoyment of her predicament. "Well, yours and Jacob 'pole up his ass' Taylor's." She continued wiggling until Garrus could see her some of her back. Her shirt had ridden up to her armpits.

"Let me help you, Morgan," he chuckled, and he gently placed his talons around her waist.

"Don't you 'Morgan' me!" she fumed at him. "You can't declare war on a Cerberus team member and retain the right to use my first name!" With Garrus's help, her shoulders and then head finally came free of the gap, and she immediately turned to glare at him, his talons on her waist keeping her steady. Still standing on the couch, for once she didn't have to look up when trying to chastise him.

"You'd be a lot more intimidating, Miss Savior of the Citadel, if I wasn't looking at a very red face and a lacy pink bra," he snarked, his mandibles shifting into the turian version of a grin.

Shepard looked down at her chest, shimmied her shoulders to resettle her tank top, and went back to glaring.

"No good, your face is still too red," he teased, and his tone invited her to lighten up.

She tried hard to keep a straight face a moment longer but then sputtered into a laugh she couldn't hold back. He released her waist as she stepped down to the floor. "I'm still mad at you over all that armory crap you started with Taylor," she announced, as she waved the newly-recovered datapad in his face, "so don't think you're off the hook."

"I know, I know. It's my fault and I need to make it right," he conceded. "But have my 'Morgan' privileges been restored?"

"Yes, yes, fine," Shepard grumbled. "You know I can never stay mad at you." As she spoke, she started moving around the room, getting Garrus to help her push the couch back into place, resituating the coffee table and chair, straightening up her work area, checking on that odd little rodent she liked so much. What silly name did she call it? He could never remember. Garrus watched her as she shifted about, so fluid, with no wasted motion, the same way she moved on the battlefield. He tried to truly look at her, seeing his role model, his best friend, his sister really, but working hard to glimpse what Thane might see in her that he didn't.

He saw someone who still looked youthful to him, though he admitted he was bad with human ages. The lack of natural armor always threw him off. He knew her birthdate, knew she was three years older than he was, but he rarely thought of her age relative to his own. In a lot of ways she was far, far older, yet somehow she was also younger—less cynical and able to hold on to some optimism. It was confusing but that's just who she was. Comparing her to other humans, she was probably six or so years older than, say, her yeoman Kelly, but they looked about the same age to him. He remembered the times when she had looked older than her age, when she was bone-deep exhausted or when betrayal or the weight of the galaxy was wearing her down.

She seemed about average height for a human woman, judging by the female crew members of both the SR-1 and 2; she was taller than some, shorter than others. She only came up to the middle of his cowl, though of course he was the tallest being on the ship. He'd even stood back to back with Grunt in front of a mirror to prove it to the krogan adolescent, who had immediately growled, "Rematch in a few months. I'm still growing." When Shepard stood next to Thane without her combat boots on, the top of her head didn't quite clear his chin.

She was on the slender side, definitely athletic but without obvious muscle bulk, and without the accentuated hourglass figure that Miranda or even Liara had. Garrus started to remember Tali's curves and then decided to shut down that line of thought. Shepard's workday uniform of Alliance blue BDUs, a bit of anti-Cerberus rebellion, emphasized her commander role but downplayed her femininity. Those shorts today must have been a real surprise to Thane, Garrus imagined with amusement, highlighting so well the modest curves she did possess.

At the moment she looked fresh and…wholesome, he supposed, with that sprinkling of little face dots. Freckles, that was the word. Her dark red hair looked almost brown in low light but blazed with fire in the sun. And he liked how her clear green eyes usually revealed her amusement before her smile did—it was a very handy trait when he needed to figure out if she was really mad at him or just giving him a hard time. Tomorrow she could easily be covered in blood and battle muck, with that unholy light in her eyes declaring her love for tactics and combat. But right now, as she glanced up from her work pile and smiled at him, she looked… beautiful. In a soft, mushy, human kind of way.

The more he thought about it, the more Garrus believed that Thane's interest was focused on Shepard herself rather than simply on an attractive and unusually exposed female form. As far as Garrus had noticed, Thane didn't pay much attention to bodies unless he was deciding how best to incapacitate one. He treated all women on the ship—men, too, for that matter—with the same calm politeness. Lately he had made more of an effort to come out of his shell with the squad, but even then he never seemed to notice let alone admire the various attributes Miranda, Samara or Jack had on display.

And if he didn't want to muddy the waters with squad mates, it wasn't like he didn't have other options. Garrus knew Thane wasn't stupid or blind: the drell was well aware that quite a few interested eyes followed him whenever he left his quarters. If he really wanted to see a naked human woman, it wouldn't take much effort on his part. Zaeed had even teased him about it once over a meal in the mess, calling him "you lucky bastard," but Thane simply shrugged a shoulder in response. He seemed more amused than anything else by the subtle and not-so-subtle invitations those interested eyes kept sending his way.

But the only person his eyes followed about the ship was Shepard. Garrus had asked him about that a week or so ago, as the two males tinkered with mods for their weapons. Thane had studied him for a long moment with those large, black eyes before giving his usual half smile and conceding, "She is a fascinating woman, one well worth contemplating."

The turian assumed then that Thane was talking about the commander's brilliant and occasionally intimidating intellect. Shepard had mentioned her late night talks with the assassin a couple of times to Garrus, and he had grinned at her excitement over finding someone with whom she could discuss dozens of esoteric topics. Thane with his drell memory even recognized most of those obscure quotations she was always dropping. The former C-Sec officer had wondered sometimes back on the original Normandy if intellect was her initial attraction to Kaidan, who was also a deep thinker, though he didn't have the breadth of interests Shepard did. Few beings did or could, Garrus thought. Her mind was simply unique.

When Cerberus first brought her back, she had a hard time accepting she was alive, that it was all real. So she had shared some of her childhood with him for the first time, to remind herself of her past and of her own authenticity. She had talked a bit about what a challenge it was for her parents to raise a child like her on a colony as remote as Mindoir.

"I went to school with other kids my age, and that was great because I made friends other than my sisters, but the actual learning there was dead boring," she had explained to him. She was just a toddler when she started reading, was into novels when other kids her age were still into picture books. By eight, she had demanded that her father explain geometry and algebra. She held off on calculus until she was ten.

"My brain was like a sponge, I just needed more and more and more, constantly. I had to have the mental stimulation of new knowledge or I became restless and bored. And when I got bored, I found other ways to entertain myself," she had admitted to him sheepishly, "which usually didn't work out well for the people around me." Garrus found it easy to imagine her as a holy terror, not because she was malicious but because she needed nearly continuous mental or physical activity the same way most species needed to breathe. She still did.

So her parents found enrichment for her everywhere they could. She had described wonderful memories of her father demonstrating principles of physics by teaching her how to shoot every different weapon they had on their farm, with every different type of ammo, under every condition variation he could think of. She ended up falling in love with the challenge of long-distance sniping.

Her introduction to biology was her dad simply taking her everywhere with him on the farm and doing his best to answer every question she asked about plants, wildlife, domesticated animals, various crops, growing cycles, weather patterns, watersheds, food chains, ecological symbiosis, how all these things might be different on Earth than on Mindoir, and on and on. What he didn't already know, he helped her to look up.

A family friend added martial arts to Shepard's repertoire, as a different kind of application for her knowledge of physics as well as anatomy. Other colonists passed along everything they knew about engineering, architecture, astronomy, and navigation, so this special little girl had even more ways to apply the mathematics she absorbed with apparently no effort. Her mother handled art, literature, history and languages, always searching the extranet as well as tapping friends for learning tools to keep her daughter's hungry mind occupied and growing.

Although Shepard never mentioned it in any way, losing her family in the batarian raid must have been horrific. But Garrus understood that Shepard's loss was so much worse than the simple word "family" or even "colony" could communicate. And Thane, Garrus was beginning to think, perhaps restored to the woman some of what had been taken from the child.

What he was less sure about was whether Shepard possibly admired more than Thane's brain and his ability to keep up with her many interests and trains of thought. Garrus knew she marveled at the assassin's combat abilities, especially how his intense physical and biotic training allowed him to flow through a field of attackers, dropping a body every other second.

One time Garrus caught her watching with her mouth hanging open as Thane took down a charging krogan with nothing but his hands and feet. Okay, he was willing to admit that his own mouth had probably been hanging open for that one, too. Sadly, Thane's impressive sniping skills, like Garrus's own, were no big deal to her, but that was probably how it should be. When Shepard took point in her infiltrator role, she trusted them with absolute certainty to make the shots that would protect her the same way she would protect them.

Off the battlefield, in group settings, she treated Thane the same way she treated the rest of the squad, with honest interest in everyone's ups and downs, likes and dislikes, taking the time to get to know each of them as individuals. And of course she joined in the joking and general camaraderie, willing to take her share of teasing as well as dish it out.

Though now that Garrus thought about it, Shepard actually talked less, a lot less, whenever Thane joined in group discussions. And her face did that funny human flushing thing, going just a bit pink, when Thane addressed her directly. Garrus couldn't remember that happening before, even with Kaidan. Hmmm, maybe he was on to something with these two…

"Hey, freaky raptor guy," Shepard smirked. "Are you going to stare in wonder at my luxurious quarters, or are you going to help with the damn requisitions snafu you and Taylor have caused?"

"Of course I'll help, my fragile, squishy friend. I'll even talk to the Cerberus flunky in a civil manner," Garrus offered, grudgingly. Then he switched topics, watching for Shepard's reaction: "By the way, I saw Thane as I was coming up."

"He stopped in while I was trying to find and grab that damn datapad," she acknowledged as she sorted through the various reports waiting for her. Now that Garrus was looking for it, he noticed she had gone pink again. "I can't imagine what he thought when he saw me half stuck behind the couch. But he left without saying much, said he'd come back later. Do you know what he wanted?"

Recalling Thane's appearance in the outer hall, Garrus tried not to chuckle. "Yeah, I have a pretty good idea what he wanted."

He finished the thought in a low voice he knew Shepard's ears couldn't pick up: "I think things are going to get interesting around here."

* * *

**This storyline continues in "Questions and Consequences."**

**As always, I would love to receive your feedback! Thank you for reading!**


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